The Journey of New HalfBloods: Bjørnsons & Brooks
by Lillith S. K
Summary: Lynnette and Lyzzette Bjørnson are identical Swedish-American twins. Camille Brooks is pretty, young little Brit. What do they have in common? They aspire to be supermodels, and they can see the monsters waiting to eat them...
1. Fashion Show From Hades

I originally posted this as a note on Facebook so my friends could read, but then figured it'd probably get more readers here....so...yea...

**(FB A/N:)**

Decided to do some form of creative writing at fucking 11:37 p.m., while on my PJATO high no less....so yea....it's starring three of my many PJATO OC's: Lynnette & Lyzzette Bjørnson and Camille Brooks. It's in Lynnette's point of view since she's the only one with her info straight...  
Enjoy!

* * *

This was it. Our first fashion show. Our first strut down the runway. This is what Lyzzette and I have been waiting for since we came to Europe. To be supermodels. We were so close now.

"Lynnie, look!" Lyzzette pointed excitedly at the dress she was going to wear; black one-shoulder, floor lenght with a thigh-high slit on the side without the shoulder strap, with grey chiffon underneath.

I nodded at her and pointed at my number; a ripped-up, black leather jumpsuit with a studded collar.

Her grey-ish lips, stained from all the black lipstick we've been wearing over the years, formed an ecstatic smile. I could tell she was trying hard to compose herself.

"Excuse me," said a voice from behind me.

I turned. A clean-cut stage assistant stood there flipping through some papers. She was muttering.

"You are...." she frowned a bit, trying to figure out the pronunciation, "...the... Bjørnson twins, correct?"

"Yes," Lyzzette and I answered in unison. The stage assistant nodded.

"You're needed over at hair and make-up," she said while pointing in a direction that lead to, I'm assuming, the hair and make-up station. "Show starts in 45 minutes," she added while pointing in another direction. The runway, I'm guessing. Then she walked away, presumably to give similar directions to the other models participating in the show.

Lyzzette let out a small squeal. "We're almost there! Mom would be so proud!"

I nodded and we walked off toward hair and make-up.

We were so close. But so very very far away...

**.............**

We nearly didn't find the damned door to the hair and make-up station because someone had decided to label the doors in cursive letters and what with our dyslexia it took us a good 3 minutes to decipher one label, only to realize that it wasn't the one we were looking for.

On our way we met up with another model, a young little Brit who couldn't be more than 16 years old, by the name of Camille Brooks who had a similar dilemma. In her case however she needed to find the accessories station for her shoes. She said she was also having problems with the labels because she was also dyslexic. Together we silently cursed whomever labeled these doors. We then pointed her to her station which we had passed only a few minutes before. She thanked us and said hair and make-up was four doors down; she'd just come from there.

After being done up with a good half-ton of make-up and sprayed with an amount of hair-spray that simply could not be healthy for the atmosphere, my sister and I stepped out looking like real supermodels. Lyzzette was squealing and, admittedly, I would've joined her except I had just noticed that one of the backstage security guards was rather odd.

I didn't like the feeling and I desperately wanted to ignore it, but I knew. That guard was not human. Demon. Monster. Call it what you will. All I knew was that I had to get Lyzzette and myself away from that spot before the guard spotted us with his big round eye.

Yes. Eye.

I managed to rush Lyzzette on to the accessories station to get our shoes.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen things like him. Not-human things. Girls with a donkey leg and a bronze leg. Men at least ten feet tall. They spelled one thing: trouble. We knew they were after us, that they wanted to hurt us. We knew because once, at a fashion shoot in Belgium, a giant had managed to get us. He'd tried to eat us. Eat us. We barely escaped with our lives. We knew it wasn't safe out here, but where else could we go? There was nowhere else to go.

And now the fashion show that could start off our careers as supermodels was a danger zone.

**.............**

We had gotten away just in time.

Just after we'd managed to walk the catwalk and perhaps set ourselves up we saw Camille coming up for her turn. She was wearing a grey and pink, bell-sleeved, empire-waisted, floor-lenght, double layered dress that hugged her trembling figure. She was shaking like a leaf and kept glancing toward her left. We walked over and wished her luck. But she just kept shaking. She was looking intently at her left, nearly petrified. Like a young doe faced with the barrel of a hunting rifle. I followed her gaze and nearly froze myself.

A one-eyed man. But it wasn't the one I'd seen earlier. Which only meant, there were two of them. I gulped. Lyzzette was tensed. Camille was still shaking. The one-eyed man was looking right at us with his one big crystal blue eye. It was Camille's trun on the catwalk.

"Go," I coaxed. "We will wait for you." She looked at me with big, beautiful blue eyes, absolutely terrified. "We won't let that one-eyed man hurt you." Her eyes widened. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

Then she was out on the catwalk.

I turned to see Lyzzette having a staring contest with the one-eyed man. She hands were clenching and unclenching in a rhythm I didn't recognize, her black nails digging into her palms.

"Lyzz!" I hissed at her. She turned. "We have to leave. And we must take Camille with us."

Lyzzette's eyes widened. "We can't! She'll get hurt! We need to leave her alone so those things won't chase after her!" she hissed back.

"No," I said. "They'll still chase her. She can see them."

Just then Camille can back. Her stoic modeling mask fell and she clutched my arm like a life-line. "There's a giant! Right there with the crowd! It stared straight at me!"

My sister and I looked at each other and nodded. Together we said "We have to go". The three of us undressed as we rushed to our day clothes, trying not to stand out among the throngs of half-naked models and rushing stage assistants.

Somehow we got out of the building before those things, the two one-eyed men and the giant, could get us. But we didn't stay to celebrate. We hailed a taxi and drove to our hotel. Camille paid in euros. We retrieved our things from our rooms. I saw Lyzzette look out our hotel room's window; a beautiful view of the Po River.

I had a bad feeling this morning I might not see that view in daylight for a very very long time I was right. I was glad my sister and I had invested our morning looking out our window at the Po River instead of watching Italian Soaps.

We wouldn't have understood them anyways.

* * *

In case anyone was wondering, this takes place in Piacenza, Italy.

Part I is finished. I'll write Part II....tomorrow...maybe....  
if ever....

*yawn*

Time of commence - 11:37 p.m. (May 21)

Time of completion - 12:48 p.m. (May 22)

....sleep...slepp...sleeap...slee.....pp....kfngvldzg.....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

**(May 22, 2:22 p.m.)**  
All kinds of reviews welcome, including flames! ^-^


	2. Fan Mail, Already?

Also posted this chapter on Facebook, too. I'll be keeping what I wrote as my initial author's note untouched. Also, this has to be the single fastest update I've ever done! **_YAY, ME!_**

**(FB A/N:)**

PART 2! Decided to get an earlier start this time....Again in Lynnette's POV.

**HI HO SILVER, AWAAAAAAAAAAAAY!**

**

* * *

**

When Lyzzette and I had checked out we met up again with Camille at the hotel lobby.

"We should leave this place," Lyzzette said. She was looking at the hotel's entrance. I knew she was waiting, expecting to see the giant and one-eyed men busting in to eat us...I wondered which one would want to eat me...

"We could go back to my father's house in London," Camille suggested quietly. "He will understand.....I think." She whispered the last part.

I didn't want to accept since she seemed a bit uncomfortable with her own suggestion. And with good reason. Here we were two complete strangers with her, running away from things that could very well be hallucinations...No. Lyzz and I having the same hallucination was...understandable. But Camille, a complete stranger to us, sharing our hallucination? No. This was just as we had worried for so long. Things things were most definitely real. i wondered how her father could even begin to comprehend.

"All right," Lyzzette said, accepting Camille's hesitant invitation.

Camille sighed. "We will need to buy some plane tickets, quickly. Before those...things find us." Camille was shivering. I realized just how alone she must have been feeling before she met us. At least Lyzz and I had each other.

"I'm not sure I have enough money for three plane tickets-"

"It's all right," I cut in. "Do you have enough for yourself?" She nodded. "Good."

"Let's get going," Lyzzette said.

We called another cab. According to Camille's cell phone, the closest airport with a flight to London in the next two hours was in Milan. The cab driver was not very excited about having to drive us such a long way, but we managed to convince him by offering up all of Camille's euros. I told her we'd pay for her ticket.

We arrived with a half-hour until take-off. We paid for our tickets with the American Express Platinum Card Lyzzette and I had been given...I don't quite recall when we were given the card. I think it was a gift from our father. No one had told us who it was from but we had a feeling.

Our mother was dead. One of those "wrong place, wrong time" scenarios. We couldn't even recall how she died or when. I knew that, afterwords some men in suits came and took us to a hotel on the west side of the United States. We were positive that Father had sent them. We stayed there for perhaps.... a month. But we didn't want to stay...We were watching Fashion Week on our room's TV, I think. And we decided. We would leave and become supermodels. We ran away from the hotel and found ourselves with suited men giving us this card and taking us to the airport, flying us out to Sweden, our mother's home country, set to start school at an academy for young women who wanted to be part of the entertainment business.

We've never met our father. We never knew anything about him. He simply wasn't there. But we never minded. I looked at Camille while we boarded our plane. She was so fortunate to know her father.  
We found our seats. The three of us together in a first-class aisle. With nothing else to do, and desperate to forget what had brought us together, we resigned ourselves to talking about ourselves, trying to get to know each other.

**.........**

As it turns out Camille is not as fortunate as I had assumed. Despite having lived her whole life with her father in London, she had never met her mother. In a way I thought this was even more sad than our case. A mother's love is so very precious. Despite being only 8 years old when our mother died, Lyzzette and I still remember so very much about her. Her curly blonde hair and creamy white skin, both of which we had inherited from her. Her Swedish accent, the way she wouldn't take crap from anyone of our neighbors, who mocked her for being a single mother.

Mr. Brooks as it is, raised Camille all by himself. Or as Camille says, "paid a nanny to raise me, all by himself". As I understood it, he was some kind of business man who couldn't take time out of his busy schedule to raise his only daughter. Sad, really. When Camille mentioned wanting to be a model he signed he up for classes and shoots for her portfolio. We had had to do all of that by ourselves...

I think after a while Camille began to trust us more. I mean, I know Lyzz and I don't look very nice, even though we are. It's 'cause we're goths, I figure. We tend to have a kind of "deathly beautiful" appeal, or so this French University boy once told us. I guess it made us look kinda intimidating. It didn't help that we definitely had some of those days where we kinda feel like ripping people's throats out. And did I mention we have ADHD? Hyperactivity and grumpy-ness do not go well together, in case you were wondering.

When we finally touched down in London it was dawn. We had a quick breakfast at the airport and took a taxi to the Brooks house. It was one of those pretty townhouses; not too big, not too small.

When we entered there was a butler who greeted us and took our things to our rooms, mine and Lyzz's being the guest bedroom. Mr. Brooks wasn't here at the moment but Camille promised to introduce us.

She seemed much calmer now that she was in more familiar surroundings. Lyzzette was looking around, taking everything in.

For some reason I knew we wouldn't be staying very long.

**..........**

Now, why do I always have to be right?

You see, after Camille had given us the grand tour, shared her portfolio pictures with us and vice versa, given us a lovely lunch and introduced us to the perplexing lyrics of Lilly Allen, her father came home. And just in time for dinner, too.

Needless to say he was quite surprised at the sight of his daughter having arrived ahead of schedule and with two new, and dare I say slightly frightening, friends. I was a bit taken aback when she told about the one-eyed men and the giant. I had imagined she would make up some excuse for our unannounced presence here. But she'd come out with the truth. All while we ate dinner. Lyzzette nearly spit out her water from shock. He looked at us oddly for a moment then sighed and said in a resigned tone of voice, "It's just as well."

At this all three of us were quite perplexed. He clarified. "This letter came in for you yesterday," he handed her a white envelope. "From your mother."

Allow me to rephrase. He tried to clarify.

We all frowned. Camille looked at the letter in her hands with a mixture of longing and confusion. She glanced at us.

"Go on," Lyzzette coaxed.

"Open it," I smiled.

She opened it slowly. A white card flew out and hovered in front of her face. Camille squeaked. Lyzzette and I could only stare. Mr. Brooks did not seem very surprised.

The card seemed to glow. There was a symbol in gold on the center of the card. The symbol for Venus?

A voice came, from the card maybe? It was female and incredibly beautiful and wonderfully sweet.

_"I , Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty, under oath of the River Styx and obligation of the wish so asked by Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon and hero of Olympus, do hereby claim Camille Brooks as my daughter."_ The same symbol on the card appeared over Camille's head, shimmering in a golden light.

Camille jumped a bit. Lyzzette and I could only stare. Mr. Brooks was chewing a piece of steak.

The voice spoke again. "_You most report immediately to Camp Half-Blood at Half-Blood Hill in Long Island, New York in the United States of America, along with this card as identification. Have a safe journey and don't be eaten by monsters. "_ A smaller business card fluttered out of the envelope and deposited itself on the table, next to Camille's glass of water. It said:

_Camp Half-Blood_  
_Half-Blood Hill _  
_Long Island, New York _  
_United States of America _  
_(800) 009-0009_

Camille picked it up, awestruck. On the back were direction to get to this "Camp Half-Blood":

_Exit on Route 25A._  
_Head through woods along the North Shore._  
_Farm Road 3.141, base of Half-Blood Hill._  
_Walk up to crest and enter Camp._  
_Beware of dragon on duty._

That last part about the dragon pretty much did it for all of us.

"Daddy, what's going on?" Camille sounded like she was very close to hysterics.

Mr. Brooks sighed and said, "It's just like it sounds. Your mother is Aphrodite. You are a demigod - half human and half god. And you apparently need to go to this 'Camp Half-Blood' place."

Camille was quite for a very long time. She went to bed without finishing her dinner. Lyzzette and I soon followed.

We had to share a queen-sized bed since there was only one guest bedroom. As I settled into the left side of the bed, Lyzzette shifted her body so she was facing me. She had a pensive look on her face.

"Lynnette," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think.....what happened with Camille and her mom.....do you think it might be the same with....with Father?"

I was quite for a long time.

Then I answered, "I don't know."

We fell asleep, those words drifting through our minds.

* * *

AWRIGHT! Finished before midnight! STYX YEA!

Those last few sentences were written while under the penetrating gaze of my mother....it was very uncomfortable....

**YA HAPPY NOW GABBI?**

Better publish this before the day is done!

2 minutes to midnight! eeep!

**(FF.N A/N:)**

In case anyone was wondering, Gabbi is my twinie and BFF. She was forcing me via Messenger and Facebook to finish the second part.

I don't rally like how this one came out...at least, not as much as the first chapter...

Feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. Just want to know someone's actually reading my stuff....

_**8D**_


	3. No Sweet Dream, Only Beautiful Nightmare

Well, I'm sorry I took so long in writing this. And here I thought I'd keep good time with this fic. *Sigh*

Didn't post this one to facebook, tho... And it's a lot longer than the last two...

Lynnette's P.O.V. once again.

* * *

That night we had the weirdest dream we'd had in a considerable amount of time.

Now I say 'we' because Lyzzette and I always have the same dreams.

In our dream we were sitting in Camille's living room. But it was different somehow...Like a shadow had been cast over every available surface. I could feel the temperature drop but it didn't feel very uncomfortable. There seemed to be a thin gray mist clinging to the hardwood floors. There was a black envelope floating in the middle of the room. There was a picture on the envelope, some sort of helmet I suppose, in gold. It floated, just slowly spinning. As if waiting for me to pluck it from it's place, and open it. I had a very, very bad feeling about it. I just knew, everything would change if I opened the envelope. All my hopes of becoming a supermodel along with my sister would be dashed. As if what had happened last night with Camille and her envelope had not left us rattled enough. I knew this envelope...it would serve a purpose similar to hers. But I also knew, in the pit of my stomach, Lyzzette and I where no daughters of Aphrodite.

I didn't want to look at the envelope anymore. I turned my head away, but I found myself looking at the damned thing again. No matter how much I squirmed and shifted my vision, the envelope was still there...mocking me. Every second it was getting harder to resist opening it.

Camille's envelope told her who her mother is...We already knew who our mother was...Would this envelope tell us who our father was.

Just that thought nearly made me pluck it right there. My sister and I had wished for some way to know our father for almost as long as we'd been having our modeling dream.

But...Was I willing to give up my dream career just to know who my father is, and maybe be sent to this Camp Half-Blood place with Camille and keep her as a friend, our first. Was I really willing to risk my career for that? Was Lyzzette willing to make that choice?

But on the other hand...We could ignore it. It would be hard, but not impossible. We could go back to the modeling circuit. Certainly our little bail at the Piacenza show could be excused with some smooth talking on our part. Everything would be back to the way it had been. But the memory of that envelope would haunt us. It would be our biggest 'what if'. We might never know who our father was. We might not see Camille again. Our first friend in years, gone just like that.

Were we truly willing to give that up?

I reached toward the envelope. To swat it away or to pluck it out, I wasn't sure. My mind wasn't truly made up yet. As soon as I touched it, the dream ended.

Lyzzette and I woke up simultaneously, our breathing uneven. The dream itself was not what shook us. It was the clear choice it presented.

Our career or our father?

I looked at Lyzzette's eyes, a perfect duplication of my own fathomless black eyes, and knew that she wasn't ready to make that choice yet.

Neither was I.

We got dressed slowly, commenting on our dream. It had been months since we'd had a dream worth discussing. And this one had thoroughly frightened us. In a way we wanted to ignore it. We wanted to pretend it had never happened. Then again it hadn't. It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

But we wanted to talk about it, too. We _needed_ to talk about it. Because we knew the choice would come. Sooner or later it would come. Even though we desperately wished it wouldn't. We weren't ready. I wasn't sure if we'd ever be ready to make that choice.

Lyzzette and I walked downstairs for brunch, we'd slept in. We were wearing our workout clothes -black cotton drawstring shorts, Katatonia t-shirt and black sneakers-, since we figured we wouldn't be going out anytime soon. It was our first time in London, but our dream and what happened last night kept us from enjoying it.

Camille met us at her kitchen's breakfast nook. She seemed depressed.

"Hey Cammi," Lyzzette greeted as cheerily as she could. That in itself was a sign that she was very concerned about Camille. We usually preferred to stick to the 'gloom-and-doom' goth stereotype when we woke up. We usually mustered some sort of spirit later in the day. We were never chirpy in the morning.

But for Camille, in this incredibly stressful moment of her life, we would make the effort.

We sat on either side of her. I smiled, which took up almost all my pre-breakfast energy.

"Did you sleep well last night, Cam?"

She lifted her head and turned to face me. Her pretty face looked like it could use a nap. She had greyish bags under her eyes, she hadn't slept at all last night, it seemed. Her pretty emerald eyes looked dull. Like someone had colored them in with a crayon. Flat. Her light brown hair was in a tangled mess and her bed clothes -light green shorts and a pink tank-, were wrinkled. She'd been tossing a lot in her bed, it would seem.

Camille's lips trembled just a little. She was holding the white envelope from last night and it's contents. She was toying with them. They didn't glow. No sickeningly beautiful voice spoke. It was just a frightened, disheveled little child shaking in her stool, holding three white pieces of paper.

She was so scared.

Lyzzette leaned in and put a hand on Camille's shoulder. She jumped a bit, then relaxed when she saw it was just Lyzzette.

"Everything will be fine Cammi," she said smoothly. "Everything always works itself out, one way or another. You'll see." She gave Camille another smile, genuine but still hard to get out.

She just sniffled. I realized she was crying.

"I-I just...," she tried to get the words out. "I thought I was _seeing_ things...all these years...I was so scared...Daddy could have explained...made sense of it all..."

She started sobbing.

"I thought I was going bloody mad!" She threw herself on me and we teetered on our stools until they regained balance. Lyzzette leaned in with her, patting her back comfortingly. I stroked her arms gently as she stained my Katatonia t-shirt with her tears.

"He could have said something!" She was nearing hysterics again. Lyzzette looked around nervously, thinking the same thing as me. _What if Mr. Brooks comes in and hears her?_

I stroked Camille's hair. "Calm down," I said gently. "What if he heard you?"

Camille sobbed harder. "The old sod already left! And besides I wouldn't care! I _wish_ he could hear me!"

We tried to calm her down to no avail.

"I don't understand! How could this happen? None of this is real! He's talking about Greek mythology and all that rubbish."

She'd mumble things like that under her breath until, finally, she calmed down enough to stop crying and let go of me. Lyzzette leaned away from her. We righted ourselves in our seats. The cook walked in at that moment, carrying two bags of groceries. He didn't ask about our state. He placed the groceries on the counter-top and faced Camille.

"Would you like anything, dear?"

She looked at me and my sister in turn. I told her I would like an omelet with lettuce, onions and tomato. Lyzzette asked for the same, but without the onions.

She told the cook, "Two omelets with lettuce and tomato, hers with onions"-at this she pointed at me-"and a veggie butty for me."

The cook nodded and went to the other side of the kitchen to start on our brunch.

Camille decided she'd had enough of sobbing. She asked if we wanted something to drink. We told her some coffee with cream would be greatly appreciated. She got up from her stool and walked around the kitchen, keeping out of the cook's way, making coffee for three.

It was quiet except for the sound of the cook's knife hitting the cutting board with every slice and the coffeemaker's buzzing. It was almost uncomfortable. While the coffeemaker worked it's magic Camille brought over three red mugs and set them in front of us. She brought a carton of cream and a little jar filled with sugar cubes and placed them on the counter in front of us.

She leaned on her side of the counter and started fidgeting with her hands. The sound of knife-cutting stopped to make way for the sound of eggs cracking, egg beating, sizzling in a frying pan.

Camille sighed. "I know bugger all about Greek mythology," she muttered dejectedly. "Who is Aphrodite supposed to be?"

Lyzzette and I didn't answer. I understood what she meant. We knew bugger all about Greek mythology, as well. At least we do if 'bugger all' means what I think it means.

The coffeemaker buzzed loudly, signaling that the coffee was ready. Camille straightened up, but instead of getting the coffee she went to sit down between us again.

The cook was working four different frying pans. Three with omelets, and the fourth with a sandwich the cook would smush with his spatula so the bread turned toasty. He abandoned his station momentarily and took the coffee pitcher and brought it to us. Lyzzette thanked him. He went back to his post.

Camille poured the coffee quietly. I stirred mine with some cream and one sugar cube. Lyzzette used two. Camille put about five, no cream. We sipped quietly. Lyzzette broke the silence.

"That voice...last night," she said cautiously, worried she might upset Camille again. Camille sat down her mug. Her face was blank except for the slight shine of fear in her eyes. She said nothing.

Lyzzette kept talking. "It said that Aphrodite was like, some sort of goddess or something, right?"

Camille was quiet.

"Goddess of Love...and Beauty..." I added.

Camille sipped her coffee.

The cook offered us our plates. I half expected Lyzzette to say that her omelet had onions in it, but she said nothing. He'd remembered who was whom.

He went to clean his counter-tops. He took the third omelet and went through a doorway on the far end of the kitchen, presumably to eat his breakfast.

Camille's mood cleared up a bit after breakfast.

It seemed like all would get better.

That day I thought everything would be fine.

Camille changed into her own workout clothes -white drawstring sweats, a pink tank top (that, admittedly, made us gag just a little) and white sneakers- and we worked out a bit in her dad's gym. We had to take turns on the treadmill and the stationary bicycle. We would've gone outside but it was raining. And besides, we were all secretly worried about bumping into any one-eyed men or unusually tall people. The warning at the end of the message for Camille from her mother ran through our minds. _Don't get eaten by monsters._

After working out for a couple of hours we had lunch. Salads with chicken.

Then it occurred to us to look up some information about Camille's apparent mother on the Internet. After all, the Internet knows all.

Well, I think Camille handled discovery pretty well...she didn't faint. Or scream. Or talk. But I think she'll be okay.

We didn't dwell on it long. We left to go watch some television. There wasn't much on. We flipped to a music channel and stayed there not really listening to Amy Winehouse's singing, not really looking and Jay Sean's videos. It was just something to fill the void of time.

Soon enough Mr. Brooks arrived. He told Camille that he'd scheduled some plane tickets to take both of them to the United States the day after tomorrow. He apologized and said we couldn't stay in the townhouse but he'd be more than happy to pay for a hotel room for us. He didn't sound very happy when he said it though. I wish we could have said no to his offer. But as it was I didn't want to use our American Express card anymore than was necessary. We had no idea what the limit was, but we didn't want to push it. We tried to use it only when absolutely necessary. He offered to pay. We accepted.

Any excuse to not use the card. We weren't very excited about using it, not with the impending choice we were bound to make.

We went to sleep that night, wondering if we would get that dreaded letter anytime soon.

I need to learn not to tempt fate so damn much.

* * *

Ba-da! Finito! Hopefully I'll update more quickly next time. In the meantime, I hope ya'll have a great monster-free summer!

And please review! I need the ego strokes! Just a little confirmation that someone's reading! Even _flames_ are welcome! (Now you _know_ I'm desperate! XD)


	4. We Are Visited By Bob The Happy Mailman

**Awright!** I'm back! And I have realized two very important things while re-reading my story:

1- I have yet to right a disclaimer...*facepalm*.

B- I made a mistake! . Ugh! I already hate making mistakes but this was a stupid one. If you recall [and if you don't just re-read it], in the first chapter I said that Camille had blue eyes. But in the third chapter I wrote that she had emerald green eyes...*headdesk* Idiot! Well, for the record, I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote that Camille had blue eyes. They're green... GREEN I TELL YOU! *shakes fist in air*

Now that Problem Numbuh B is taken care of, time to work on Problem Numbuh 1! (Can you tell I've watching a lot of Kids Next Door lately? xD)

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own the genius work of literature known as the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Rick Riordan did, does, and always will.

I also have no ownership of:

-Milan  
-Piacenza  
-Po River  
-London  
-American Express Platinum Card, or American Express for that matter.  
-Sweden  
-The United States of America  
-Lilly Allen or their music  
-Katatonia or their music  
-Amy Winehouse or their music  
-Jay Sean or their music  
-Pestana Chelsea Bridge Hotel & Spa, or any of their affiliates.

[Please tell me if I forgot something]

**CLAIMER:** I _DO_ however own the following characters:

-Lyzzette Bjørnson  
-Lynnette Bjørnson  
-Camille Brooks  
-Mr. Brooks  
-Miss Bjørnson (Lynn and Lyzz's mother)

And I am such a hypocrite! I said I'd update sooner than last time and I think I took even more time to post this one than last one. *headdesk* You may hate me now.

**AWRIGHT!** Now that both the Problems have been taken care of...ON WITH THE SHOW!

I decided to switch POV's...We shall now read the thoughts of Lyzzette Bjornson...it shouldn't be too different...

[Longest Author's Note EVAR! XD]

* * *

We awoke the next morning in much the same way as the day before.

Mainly because we had that same damned dream again.

We've had the same dream repeated before, but this one was scary. Not the _faint-from-absolute-terror_ scary. More like the _pit-of-your-stomach-disconcerting_ scary, I suppose. Besides the only other dreams that ever repeat themselves to us never make any sense. Like giant chocolate viking bunnies taking over Sweden or viking skeletons dancing like Cossacks...Come to think of it, all our previous repeating dreams have to do with vikings...

Cool.

But that's beside the point. The point is, we don't like this dream. Or maybe it classifies as a nightmare...

"Come on," Lynnette said in that gloomy morning voice of hers. "We told Camille we'd help her pack."

I sighed.

We went downstairs to have breakfast. I have to admit, I feel a _little_ guilty about eating so much here. Usually my sister and I eat one meal and as many snacks as we can sneak. It's not like we don't have money. I mean we have that American Express Card our dad gave us but Lynn doesn't like using it a lot. I get it, I mean we have no idea what the limit is. And believe me we've tried to find out. That's why we only use it for travel and hotels and only if they weren't provided for us by the modeling agency. Plus, it made us appear to be stupid Americans when we use it [being American Express and all that], which we aren't. We're more Swedish than not. And it's not like we have anything against Americans, it's just the European public's general opinion.* And besides we were models! We couldn't afford to get chubby or anything. It would _ruin_ us. But still, it was nice to feel full all day. And it was free food! The best kind!

We must have woken up earlier today because Mr. Brooks was sitting at the dining room table eating his breakfast. Camille was sitting to his right not really eating, just poking her poached eggs with a spoon.

"Good morning, Mr. Brooks. Good morning, Camille", Lynnette and I said in unison. I always found it amazing that we sometimes managed to do that, say the exact same thing at the exact same time. Must be a twin thing or something.

Mr. Brooks offered us a smile and a 'Good morning' back. Clearly someone was a morning person. Camille gave us a smile. Looked like she'd had better luck getting to sleep last night. She was looking chirpier today. I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.`

_Ugh._ Morning people. I will never know how anyone can be a morning person. It should be biologically impossible to be that cheerful this early in the morning. Wait, what time is it? I looked for a clock and saw it was 7 o clock. Not so much an ungodly hour in the morning as I thought it was. Must have been the rain that made me think it was earlier than it really was.

Mr. Brooks left shortly after finishing his breakfast. Camille waited for us to finish our breakfast. She was twisting her fingers and fidgeting. In someplace in my mind I wondered if Camille was also ADHD. Then we'd have a lot more in common. Models, European, dyslexic and now maybe ADHD. Huh. It was _almost_ half-way creepy. Almost.

It was really quiet.

"I'm sorry I have to go..." Camille said in a soft voice.

I swallowed my food. "It's OK," I said nonchalantly. "It's not your fault."

"What do you think this Camp Half-Blood place is like?" Lynnette asked.

Camille shrugged. "I guess it looks like a camp..."

_Logically,_ I thought. "I guess you'll find out when you get there."

She nodded. "I wish you two could come with me. You're the first _real_ friends I've had in a long time."

Lynnette looked down to her plate and said nothing. She was upset, too.

"We'll meet again," I said, although in all honesty, I wasn't sure I believed myself.

Camille looked at her empty plate and said nothing for a while. I nibbled on some toast.

"You should start packing soon," Lynnette commented and then took a swig of coffee. I did the same. Oh yea, I'm _such_ a copycat.

"Yea..." Camille mumbled something I didn't catch and from the looks of it neither did Lynnette.

"How long do you think you'll be staying there?" I asked because I was hoping she might come back soon and we might do another fashion show together. And maybe this time we won't run out on the show like in Piacenza.

"My dad said I might be staying for the rest of the summer," she answered quietly. _Damn._ June had just started. We wouldn't see her until August, maybe September.

"Maybe even the whole year..." Camille trailed off. Lynnette and I where really sad now. We might not ever see her again. What a depressing thought.

Lynnette got up from her chair. I wiped my mouth with my napkin, careful not to smudge my black lipstick.

"Let's go pack your stuff," she said.

* * *

Camille's room, admittedly, made us cringe a bit. We liked dark colors and all things Gothic. Camille's room was so far from that it was practically a culture shock. Thankfully it wasn't covered in pink. It was mostly white vintage furniture and grassy green walls. Her bed had white sheets with some pink in them and a chiffon canopy. On her bed was a Louis Vuitton suitcase and carry-on bag.

Her closet was pretty big and had all kinds of clothes. Nearly all of them weren't our style with the exception two tops. One of those was a black sequin tank top which Camille said was a hand-me-down of sorts from her aunt. But it was apparently too big on her, especially around the chest. Now I don't mean to brag or anything but it was obvious that my sister and I were more...um..._gifted_, than Camille. It must be because of our age. We're only two years older than Camille but still. Anyway, she said we should try it on. I didn't feel much like taking off my other Katatonia tee so Lynnette tried it. We're the same size everything, so if it fits one of us it fits us both. It looked awesome on her, so it would look awesome on me. Lynnette didn't like it much though. But I did. Camille gave it to me as a present. I smiled nice and wide.

The other piece we liked was also a sorta hand-me-down from her larger chested aunt. It was this grey turtle neck. Lynnette liked it more than me. I already knew what she'd wear it with. That studded collar and leather skirt. Yea. Now that I thought about it, it was kinda cute. Camille gave the turtle neck to Lynnette and she smiled.

Now, we've gotten presents before but then it's usually Christmas or our birthday [and in some cases, Valentine's Day]. We usually didn't get gifts just because. So it was nice to get some new clothes from a friend.

My sister and I put our swag aside and helped Camille pick out her wardrobe.

"If it's a camp," I said, "You'll probably be working out a lot." Camille nodded and we packed three sweatpants [grey, white, and pink] and some sports bras.

"Some t-shirts would be good, too." Camille picked t-shirts [the kind of bubblegum pop cute we wouldn't be caught dead in, but still cute] and placed them in her suitcase.

"You might need a bathing suit," Lynnette pointed out. That hadn't occurred to me. Camille picked out a green bikini, a white one-piece and pink bikini with matching skirt. It continually amazed me that my sister and I, goth princesses that we are, befriended such a far-from-goth individual. But at least Camille was nice.

We looked at her suitcase. There was still a lot of room left so we helped her put in some skirts and jeans and, of course, shoes. Her sneakers of course and some flip-flops. Three pairs of pajamas and two jackets.

We helped Camille close the suitcase. It was a tight fit, but we managed to close it safely. Then we helped get Camille's toiletries and other things together and put them in her carry-on bag.

When we finished it was already lunch time. We decided on a soup for some reason. It was cabbage soup which I thought would taste like crap but it was surprisingly good. After that we all sat down in her living room to drink some iced tea and watch _Bram Stoker's Dracula_. It was one of me and sister's favorite movies. Camille didn't seem too excited about it though. I expected that but I didn't expect her to be shaking like a cell phone on vibrate during the opening sequence. I mean, come on! That isn't even the goriest part of the movie! I image she'll have a heart attack when she sees the final half-hour of the movie. _If _she makes it to the final half-hour of the movie. She seemed to like the romance aspect of the movie though.

Around the scene when Lucy was being given the blood transfusion we heard a knock at the door. Camille scrabbled off the couch and nearly sprinted to the door. Any excuse to get away from this movie. Lynnette was staring at the screen watching intently, mouth slightly agape. She got like this when she really liked a movie. I picked up the remote and paused the movie so Camille wouldn't miss anything. Lynnette blinked.

Camille's head popped into the room. Her eyes were wide and she seemed confused.

"What's wrong?" Lynnette asked.

"Did you tell anyone you where staying here?" Camille sounded kinda freaked out.

Lynnette looked at me, confused. We didn't have anyone to contact except the agency and all we'd said was that we were taking a break in London. "Why?" We asked simultaneously.

She looked back toward the front door and gulped. "There's this _really_ creepy guy at the door asking for you two."

My sister and I got this awful sinking feeling in our stomachs. We quickly got up and joined Camille in the foyer, leaving any sense of security on the sofa.

At the door stood a thin man wearing a black suit and hat. We couldn't see his face. He was pale like a corpse. I was so uncomfortable now. The guy was definitely creepy. Not that I was scared._ No_, seriously! That guy isn't scary. Just creepy. _Totally different!_

I narrowed my eyes at the guy. Maybe if I looked closely at his face I'd find one big eye on his face. It would explain why he was so damn creepy.

But what if he didn't?

He reached out a hand toward us. In it was a thick black envelope.

_No._

"_Lynnette Bjørnson. Lyzzette Bjørnson._" His voice was like a whisper. A _creepy_ whisper. Camille shivered and hid behind Lynnette.

I looked at my sister and she looked at me. We nodded once. We stepped toward the man, three synchronized steps toward the door. We both reached for the envelope. It flew out of the man's hand and floated toward us. We each grabbed one side of it.

The man bowed, then turned and walked away. I'm not sure, but I think I saw him dissolve into smoke when he reached the final step.

My sister and I looked at the envelope and a shiver ran up our spines. Because it had a golden Greek-looking helmet imprinted on the front. The envelope from our dreams.

From our father.

Lynnette and I released the envelope instantly after realizing this. I half-expected it to stay in place, floating. Instead it drifted gracefully to the ground, helmet-side up.

The three of us just stared at it for a good two minutes. Camille probably wanted to ask something but she was shaking so bad her teeth were starting to chatter. Partly from fear and partly from the cold breeze that was blowing in from the open doorway. After scaring Camille half to death and giving us all the ultimate creeps, the least the guy could do was close the door when he left.

Lynnette was the first to regain her composure. She went and closed the door quietly. Then she locked it. Camille was inching her way toward me, probably wanting to put something -or even some_one_- between her and that envelope. I don't suppose I blamed her. After all, I'd realized something about her, she was scared easily. I'll bet she's glad the envelope wasn't for her.

Lynnette walked back slowly and picked up the envelope. Then she did something that surprised me. She went to the kitchen. I hastily followed and Camille, who had latched herself unto my arm, followed along. Lynnette was standing over the sink. I realized what she was going to do a second before she did it. But it still came as a shock.

She folded up the envelope into a long folded strip, then shoved it down the trash disposal. In my peripheral vision I saw Camille's eyes widen as she too realized what was happening. She cringed and I just stared blankly as Lynnette flicked the switch, turning on the trash disposal. The sound of the envelope being ripped to shreds was a lot harsher than I thought it would be.

A little voice in my head asked if I really wanted to destroy the envelope, but it was too late to ask that now. The envelope was gone. Everything would go back to normal.

Lynnette turned toward us and went back to the living room, her expression blank. Camille and I followed.

Lynnette sat down on the sofa and continued watching _Bram Stoker's Dracula_. I didn't think Camille would appreciate that after what had just happened, but I was desperate for some normalcy. I figured Camille would rather stay here and suffer through the rest of the movie instead of going back to her room, _alone_. I told her to sit next to me. I'd warn when it would get exceptionally gory or scary for her. When I did, she would bury her face in my side and, if the sounds were too much, cover her ears as well.

The movie had been over for a while when Mr. Brooks arrived. He said he had booked us a two bed room at the _Pestana Chelsea Bridge Hotel & Spa_** for one week. I felt kinda bad about that. Later we found out the rooms there started at around _116.10 pounds_ which [using a currency converter] was equivalent to _140.763 euros_. Which in turn is equivalent to _kr 1,347.22_***. Now I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that's a lot to spend on two strangers you want to keep out of your townhouse while you're away. Not that I'm complaining. I also read it had 24-hour room service [which Mr. Brooks would be paying, of course], spa with sauna and massages, an indoor pool, laundry service and all sorts of other luxurious things I'm sure they forgot to mention on the site. Like heated toilets and breakfast in bed. A girl can only dream.

Camille and Mr. Brooks' flight was leaving at noon so there would be plenty of time for me and my sister to get our stuff together, check in to the hotel and still see Camille off on her American adventure.

I felt sad at having to say goodbye to our new friend, but clearly this was for the best. She'd be safe now. That would be good for her, she's so easily scared.

That night we went to sleep restlessly, afraid of what dream we'd get tonight. Instead we dreamed of blackness. The dream, or lack thereof, was comforting. I found myself dream-thinking that, once Camille left and Lynnette and I, possibly, went back to Sweden everything would be back to normal.

Everything will go back to normal.

_Everything will go back to normal._

Won't it?

* * *

*I'm not saying this is what _ALL_ Europeans think of Americans. I've never even been to Europe so I shouldn't even be talking. But it would seem that the general image of Americans in the European psyche is *European accent* "_idiotic Americans_". Kinda like how Americans think Latinos are uneducated, no-speaky-English, gardeners and maids. And Latinos think Americans are idiotic, racist bastards. _Ah, stereotypes._

**This is a real hotel in London, which I _DO NOT OWN._

*** 116.10 [UK Pounds] = 140.763 [Euros] = kr 1,347.22 [Swedish Kronor] = $176.46 [US Dollars] [[These are real prices by the way.]]

* * *

_**REMEMBER:**_

**-Review dammit!** If I don't get reviews I won't update. *huffs*

-If you need PJATO OC's I'm your girl! Just message me.

-Poll on my profile, check it out! **NOW!**

-_Damn you, Kawashima!_ [FIFA, I was watching Japan vs Paraguay while writing.]

-What's up with community service? [Just ignore this one or I'll start ranting.]

-Should I post a list of my OC's on my profile?

-The Lost Hero preview sucks if you have no patience. Like me! [The first two chapters were posted, I read them. The last sentence _killed _me. **Srsly.**]

-Oh my _gods_! I found my husband! He is **Carlos Aponte**! . [America's Got Talent Chicago auditions; Puertorrican opera singer is love! ^-^]

-_Bram Stoker's Dracula_ is the best [non-anime] movie **Evar**! .

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